


Long Nights Near Open Fires

by Mishka10



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishka10/pseuds/Mishka10
Summary: It’s the start of winter Jaskier is freezing, Geralt has a solution to this problem. A solution that brings to the forefront both of the men's feelings, however it turns out both are equally bad at communicating.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 423





	1. a cold beginning

Jaskier was cold. No, as a minor correction, Jaskier was _freezing_. he had passed through being cold, cold had been two hours ago on the road, when the frost nipping at his shoes chilled his feet enough that each step hurt. Cold had been an hour back, when the sky turned against them, and each drop of the slow lazy drizzle felt like needles against his skin. No, what he felt now went beyond just being cold. It was an ache, the type that settles deep within your bones, seeming to radiate out of your very marrow, until all you feel is little more than a dull ache. It had been, Jaskier realised on reflection, a concerningly long time sense he had actually actively felt cold. He was, without a doubt, freezing.

And yet of course, the Witcher, the very reason he was in this predicament, seemed to remain completely unbothered by the drastic drop in temperature. As far as Jaskier is concerned they shouldn’t even be out there, wandering the woods at the start of winter. But Geralt had found a job, and yes, maybe Jaskier had insisted on going with, but Geralt had claimed it would be an easy task, done in a day, back at the inn in time for supper. Instead, for the second night in a row, Jaskier found himself huddled in his bedroll, creeping as close to the fire as he dared in a desperate attempt to return some level of feeling to his limbs.

Jaskier levelled a sharp glare at the back of the Witcher’s head from over the edge of his bedroll. He doubted Geralt even noticed, watching as the other man busied himself with tidying away the remains of their dinner, seemingly either unaware or uncaring of his travel companions’ current discomfort. After a moment of staring Jaskier collapsed back into his cocoon of blankets with an overdramatic huff, hoping to attract at least some attention to his current state. Geralt appeared to pay him no mind, still focused on packing everything neatly away, so they would be ready and able to move on at first light the next day.

“I” Jaskier announced, with as much grandeur as he could muster with chattering teeth, “am cold.”

“Yes Jaskier.” Jaskier found the response unsurprising, yet still somehow disappointing.

“…Perhaps I should elaborate. I am _cold_ , Geralt. A cold that reaches deep within me, soon I fear to even freeze my very soul. Freeze it as much as the rest of me is already frozen”

“Yes Jaskier.”

“The rest of me I think must be near becoming blocks of ice by now, do you have any idea how long it has been sense I was last able to feel my toes?”

Geralt merely hummed in response to the question, having finished in his tasks he slowly made his way over to the bard, quickly realising there may be some truth in Jaskier’s words, as he noticed the extent of Jaskier’s shivering and paler than normal skin. Geralt sighed, pausing to grab his own bedroll, and drag it over, repositioning it beside the shivering bard, he couldn’t just let the man freeze to death in the middle of some god forsaken forest.

Jaskier silently watched Geralt rearrange his sleeping arrangements. This hadn’t necessarily been what he had been… hoping for in complaining about the cold, in truth he didn’t know what he had hoped for, other than to no longer feel cold. But he was in no way complaining to the new arrangements. He attempted to still at least the worse of his shaking as Geralt settled down beside him with a gentle grunt. Geralt settled quickly, tired from the day and clearly uninterested in bothering with anymore conversation.

As they lay there Jaskier felt the warmth radiating off the Witcher. He snuggled as close as he dared to this new heat source, not wanting to disturb the man, but relishing at the chance to feel something other than numbed cold. This wasn’t completely untrodden territory between them of course. They had, on occasion slept beside one another, be it sharing the last room in a crowded inn, or lying precariously on some rocky alcove, too small to allow for separation. The arm, slowly sliding out of its own bedding to creep across Jaskier’s chest was, however, a new development. Not necessarily an unwanted development, but decidedly… new. Jaskier found himself unsure of how to respond, worrying that if he brought any attention to the arm slowly slipping around him, it would lead to Geralt instantly retracting the limb, and possibly, depending on his mood, moving away altogether. As such Jaskier resolved not to say anything, that is until the arm finally reached its destination, and with a swift movement yanked Jaskier directly backwards, leaving him pressed against Geralt.

“what-“

“You’re cold.” Jaskier found the answer was once again unhelpfully curt in nature.

“well, now, yes I am- or almost rather I was, cold. Thank you Geralt, that still doesn’t explain- this.” Jaskier gestured at the space, or more accurately the lack of space between them, unsure of if he should even bother trying to address the matter of the arm still firmly tucked over his chest.

Geralt sighed, as though it should be obvious and he didn’t see why he was needing to even have this conversation, when by all rights he could instead be sleeping. “You’ll warm up faster this way.”

Jaskier spluttered, “I’ll warm up – I mean I’m sure I will, but- well its only we’ve slept near for warmth before and it’s never-“

“Shut up Jaskier.”

Jaskier paused, in truth he wasn’t sure why he was pushing it, when instead he could just settle down and enjoy the feeling of being held, enjoy the warmth of the Witcher against his back. But. Something tonight had stopped him from simply basking in the feelings it gave him to be held there, warm and safe and cared for. Something made him want to fight it, to demand answers for this kindness he was being shown. That is, it did until a terrible thought struck him. “Am I dying?”

“…what.”

“Am I- Oh god’s, Geralt. Have I gotten so chilled you felt this was the only course of action to save my life? Tell it to me plainly Geralt, am I dying?”

Jaskier turned, craning his neck to see Geralt, he needed to know now, he hadn’t thought he was _that_ cold yet, but wasn’t that a sign of freezing to death? Not realising how cold you truly are. He was just able to make out Geralt’s face in the remaining glow of the embers. Geralt did not look like a man concerned his friend was dying, Geralt looked much more like a man about to non-too lightly scuff someone around the head for disturbing their sleep. He fixed Jaskier with a clearly annoyed, withering stare. “Go to sleep Jaskier.”

Jaskier turned back around. Right. Probably not dying then. This was probably nothing anyway, just, as Geralt had said, an attempt to stop him freezing faster. He could handle it, like a mature adult, not at all distracted by Geralt being _right there_ for the entire night. The arm, Jaskier noted, had still not moved.

Behind him Geralt lay in the dark, still frowning at the back of Jaskier’s head. In truth he wasn’t completely sure himself why he had done it, dared to pull the bard against him. It wasn’t really… necessary per say, sure it was true it would help Jaskier warm up, help keep him warm, but between Geralt and the fire he would have been fine without the… embrace. Geralt had moved because… because he had wanted to. He had wanted not just to still Jaskier’s shaking but have him near to him, to have the certainty of feeling the bard against him. Slowly digesting his feeling Geralt continued to stare at Jaskier, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t pull away now, he could have when Jaskier first spoke certainly, but now… now the action would likely just prompt more questions, not to mention he didn’t _want_ to pull away. Finally, with an almost inaudible sigh Geralt slowly and carefully, lent forward to rest his head against the bards back, silently cursing when he felt Jaskier promptly go unnaturally still in response.

Geralt held himself equally still, hoping, praying Jaskier would let it go, he would simply settle down and finally, finally let them both slip into the blessed hands of sleep. After what felt like an eternity Jaskier shifted quietly, seeming to relax, if only slightly. Geralt sent out a silent thanks to the universe, now determined to nothing else to disrupt the delicate balance between them. Geralt lay there, in the dark, listening to Jaskier’s breathing, allowing both of them to finally get some well-deserved rest. It was just as Geralt felt himself beginning to drift off, having assumed Jaskier had already fallen asleep, that he felt the bard’s hand come to settle on the hand he had still clasped across Jaskier’s chest.

Jaskier thought the Witcher was asleep. Jaskier hoped the Witcher was asleep. Jaskier sent out a silent prayer to any watching deities that the Witcher was, in fact, asleep. Because, if Geralt wasn’t asleep then he would now be aware that Jaskier was, in a practical sense, holding his hand. It was, Jaskier justified to himself, for comfort. His arm had been uncomfortable, this position was just… nicer. It had nothing to do with wanting to hold Geralt’s hand, that was just an irrelevant side effect really. Jaskier heard Geralt shift slightly behind him, and once again felt his bones freeze, this time in fear rather than from the biting cold. He lay in wait, for Geralt’s questions, for Geralt to finally retract the arm, roll over, leave Jaskier huddled there, alone in the cold. He held his breath as he felt Geralt move, slowly turning his hand over to let their palms press together. An… offering? Question? Jaskier didn’t know. He didn’t dare to ask as he gently intertwined their fingers, clasping Geralt’s hand, content to leave the meaning of the act unaddressed, simply hanging unknown between them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feelings are addressed, cuddles are had, Jaskier is (somehow) still cold.

They didn’t talk about it, Geralt woke first and gently detangled his hand from the bard’s, bedroll already packed away, and breakfast made by the time Jaskier awoke, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened the night before. It became an instant unspoken agreement not to say anything, neither wanting to be the one to bring it up. And all too soon it was buried by the rest of life, under the rush to deal with the dammed monster Geralt had been hunting, and finally return to town. Quickly normal routine fully overtook any thoughts of that night.

It was forgotten. At least it had been forgotten, until Jaskier found himself once again huddled in his bedroll, trying to fight off the encroaching chill in the air. Harsh weather conditions had slowed their travel, and with the next village at least a day or more walk away, Jaskier found himself once again bunkering down against the elements. This time at least, he could still mostly feel his fingers. Still, he was cold. He had retired to bed the moment dinner was done, leaving the Witcher to finish tending to Roach, hoping the thick cloth would do something to stop the numbing cold he could feel slowly starting to creep into his limbs.

Jaskier watched the Witcher from where he lay, the cold bringing back memories of the other evening, the last time he lay shivering as the Witcher ignored him, and what it had led to. The feeling of Geralt, so close, his arm, holding Jaskier so gently. He wanted it again, wanted the chance to wake up feeling warm and content and safe. But tonight wasn’t quite as cold as last time; possibly cold enough for Geralt to lay close to him, but certainly not enough for there to be any need to be pressed together. Jaskier knew this, in fact he was fairly sure that if he just stuck close to the fire, wrapped in his furs as he was, he would likely survive the night just fine on his own. But that wasn’t what he wanted.

Jaskier had the beginnings of an idea of how to get what he did want, Geralt didn’t need to know that he felt almost warm enough already. There had been an unexpected cold snap that evening, and Jaskier rarely managed to prepare for such changes, so it wouldn’t be inconceivable that he would be cold tonight. Yes, all he had to do to get what he wanted is convince Geralt that the bard was once again freezing.

Jaskier levelled another look at the other man, the Witcher still paying him no mind, and sighed, as dramatically as he could manage. This, unsurprisingly earned him no response. With another dramatic sigh Jaskier shifted slightly, letting the cold air rush into his tight bundle of blankets. He regretted the move almost instantly when a very real shiver ran up his spine, dammit it was cold tonight.

A little way off Geralt had paused, finished in his task but reluctant to go lie down, and now instead was carefully watching Jaskier out of the corner of his eye, observing the bard’s shivering.

“Geralt.” The tone, Geralt noted was worryingly overdramatic, “Geralt I’m _cold_.”

“Yes Jaskier.”

“I fear I may soon be frozen to the bone Geralt. I can feel it enveloping my body as I speak.”

Geralt didn’t respond as he began once again shifting his bedroll to lie beside the bards. It was just to shut the man up he told himself, just to make sure he didn’t actually freeze in the night, it had nothing to do with _wanting_ to be close to him. Jaskier, for his part, did stop talking almost the second he realised what the Witcher was doing, focusing on feigning indifference to the Witcher’s decision to move his sleeping arrangements.

Soon they found themselves lying side by side, shoulders just brushing on another, neither sure how to proceed. Jaskier almost wanted to scream. This wasn’t what he wanted/This was almost what he wanted. It wasn’t good enough/maybe if he just shut his eyes and let himself rest, let himself stop hyper focusing on the one point of contact between them this could be enough. He risked a look at Geralt, lying almost motionless beside him, he couldn’t read his face, guess at what the other was thinking. But dammit, he wanted _more_.

Geralt didn’t know what to do. Jaskier was so close. He could turn, reach out, like last time. slowly curl his arm around the bard, bring them close- but. But this time Jaskier wasn’t shaking, this time he had no excuse.

“Geralt.” Unless Jaskier gave him an excuse.

“Geralt I’m still cold.”

Almost instantly Geralt felt himself turning, one arm easily reaching out to incircle the smaller man. This time Jaskier moved as well, easily slotting himself back into the Witcher’s embrace, letting himself settle back against Geralt. Sleep came quickly for both that night.

They still didn’t talk about it. The unnamed dance that built between them. It was easy, Jaskier would complain, briefly, about the weather, how numb his toes were or anything else, Geralt would pretend to ignore him as he moved his bedding over, and then… and then they slept, and that was all. Just another routine, nothing to dwell on. In Jaskier’s defence the nights really where getting colder, it was just practical really, they would both be warmer, sleeping as they were. It was fine. No one needed to say anything, they had a routine to follow.

Until. Until Jaskier fucked it up. He didn’t mean to; he was just tired. It had been a long day, he wasn’t thinking. So, he had simply settled down in his bedroll, no theatrics, nothing said, not even the slightest off hand comment about a chill in the air made before settling down for the evening. Jaskier didn’t even realise, until he noticed that, instead of moving his own bedroll next to Jaskier’s, Geralt was just… standing beside his own blankets, notably located a little distance from where Jaskier lay. Ah. Fuck.

Geralt didn’t know what to do. He had waited as long as he could, dragging out the evening tasks, flicking less than conspicuous looks over at Jaskier… waiting. Waiting for Jaskier to give him the usual opening, the excuse to once again move his bedding over to the bard, to settle in behind him as he regularly had. But tonight, no excuse had come. He couldn’t just go over there… unprompted, could he? What if Jaskier had done it on purpose, he had grown tired of Geralt’s nightly presence, or merely felt no need to have the Witcher close tonight. No. He couldn’t go over unprompted. Mind made up Geralt resolved to leave the bard his space for tonight, climbing into his own tangle of blankets, tying to ignore how aware he was of the empty space beside him.

Jaskier lay in the dark, considering what to do. He shouldn’t do anything. He should just leave it alone. Then, tomorrow he would make sure to make some little quip about the weather, and everything would go back to the way it was. It was a perfect plan. Except. Except what if it didn’t? what if Geralt didn’t want to spend any more nights pressed against him. Perhaps Geralt had jumped at the opportunity to finally get some space between them, he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t asked if Jaskier ~~wanted~~ needed him nearby tonight. Maybe the Witcher was relishing in the chance to sleep alone. Leaving Jaskier alone and wanting and… cold. Fuck. He had gotten so used to having Geralt there he had forgotten how cold it actually got each night. He pitched himself up onto his elbows to stare at the unmoving shape of the Witcher.

“Geralt.”

“Yes Jaskier.”

“It’s just, I thought maybe- it’s only I am- actually- no, never mind, it’s not important.”

“Jaskier”

“it’s nothing, forget I said anything.”

The Witcher sighed. It was never actually nothing. He sat up best he could and levelled a sharp stare at the bard, ignoring the fact his stare would likely be lost to the darkness. “What Jaskier.”

Jaskier had lain back down, and now waved a dismissive hand as he said, “no, it’s nothing, don’t worry.” 

Geralt attempted to settle back with a heavy sigh. He could hear the bard… rustling where he lay. Geralt sighed again, he knew would get no rest like this. “dammit.” Whispering silent curses Geralt got up, dragging his bedding over to the bard and settling back down with an annoyed grunt. He shifted, lifting an arm so Jaskier could slot in easily beside him, they could go back to sleeping and not talking about… this. Or they could once Jaskier moved. Instead, for some inconceivable reason Jaskier didn’t move; he just lay there, staring over at the Witcher with a look of confused wonder.

“Jaskier”

“you don’t have to, sleep here that is, if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” Dammit. He hadn’t meant to admit that to Jaskier, to himself.

Jaskier stared at the Witcher, the other man’s words tumbling through his mind. He _wanted_ to. Wanted to be close to Jaskier, wanted to sleep near him, _holding_ him. He wanted… in a sudden uncoordinated movement Jaskier pitched upwards, crashing into Geralt more than anything else, as he landed a somewhat sloppy kiss on the Witcher’s lips. He pulled back, eyes widening, apologies ready to spill from his lips, that had been… impulsive and unwise and Gods, what if he had just ruined everything, ruined years of friendship on a whim…Jaskier’s mental spiral was cut off as Geralt gently cupped his face, drawing him back in for another kiss. Slower, gentler this time. “Oh. _Oh_.”

Geralt pulled back slowly, rubbing Jaskier’s cheek with his thumb. “is this… alright?”

“alri- more than alright!”

Geralt settled back with a soft chuckle, “good.”

Jaskier followed, sprawling himself across Geralt’s chest and feeling the Witcher’s arm rise to rest comfortably against his back, keeping him in place. Yes, this was more than alright. He looked up at Geralt, the silence between them felt different now, no longer a silent agreement to not address the situation, but a shared… understanding. Jaskier smiled, delighted, craning up stealing a final kiss before settling gently against Geralt, tucking himself against the Witcher’s broad chest, a feeling of contentment swelling in his own chest.

Geralt smiled softly to himself, feeling Jaskier settle before shifting ever so slightly to pull the blankets that had fallen aside back up and over both of them. Afterall, he couldn’t just let Jaskier _freeze_ out there, now could he. 

**Author's Note:**

> is it obvious how much i just want a hug?


End file.
